Clean
by paranoid woman
Summary: Sequel now up, "Clean and Unclean." Summary: Crystal wants revenge. Megan provides some sense. Don must find a way to see the light. Gen - Don, Megan, Crystal Hoyle, Buck Winters, Ian. Warnings: One dirty word.
1. Clean

**Title: **"Clean" (1/1)  
**Word Count:** 788.  
**Characters:** Don, mention of Crystal Hoyle, Buck Winters and Ian, ?.  
**Rating:** PG-13.  
**Warnings:** One dirty word.  
**Spoilers:** 3x01 - Spree and 3x02 – Two Daughters.  
**Summary:** He knew that, inevitably, regrets would eat and chew his brain, but he wasn't expecting the adrenaline of his mistake to remain for so long inside his body, marking his soul.  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything related to Numb3rs.  
**Beta:** The fantastic twins_m0m and the great Lily G.  
**A/N:** This is a little experiment of mine. It started as a drabble for numb3rs100 but the plot bunny was fed with coffee and this is the result.

**XxX**

**Clean**

That shot was clean. Only one was needed, and it was accurate.

He just held the rifle and pulled the trigger. He was determined to put an end to the situation.

Maybe too much.

But it doesn't matter now since Crystal Hoyle is dead, does it?

Tonight, lying in his bed, Don realizes how messed up his mind could be. He sits up, hearing something tick, and he instinctively finds the clock. It drags his whole attention; he can't make his eyes abandon the admiration – or the tragedy – of such an evil device.

He can't turn back time, and he knows it. Yet that doesn't mean it's an easy fact to bear.

It's not like what Ian did. He did the dirty job, while Don took care of the most questionable part – allowing it.

He knew that, inevitably, regrets would eat and chew his brain, but he wasn't expecting the adrenaline of his mistake to remain for so long inside his body, marking his soul.

Every regret means it's too late.

The lamp's light makes it all look banal. He can't cope if everything's so normal, like today is like any other day. This is not the usual situation, but there's the risk of it becoming one.

Barefoot, Don decides to leave the bed where all his negativity and his pain concentrate. He's stood there watching the clock for too long, and that's not pursuing a real change.

The kitchen will do for a few minutes. He does need some light, but only the one coming from the fridge. Door open, beer in hand, cold air getting to his nerves, he lets himself slide onto the floor and enjoys the taste of his future state of drunkenness.

One sip and he feels his insides tickling; two, and he laughs the way a manic would do; three, and his throat suddenly closes.

The beer doesn't want to go down anymore. His heart's aching, pounding too hard. He messily gets up, and barely makes it to the kitchen sink.

As he empties his stomach, he knows that this is a lot more than an upset stomach. When there's nothing left, something unpredictable comes out of his mouth. "Shit…" he says, and an entire line of curses follow. It seems to be the most appropriate way for him to express what he wants.

An escape.

He's got to clean his soul, to vent out the frustration of having a legal potential for destruction when things get out of hands.

Perhaps this is what actual therapy is like, the one his superiors demand him to take. But if he's not allowed to scream when he needs to, it definitely won't work.

Blaming time for existing, Crystal for recruiting young men, Buck for being an idiot, Ian for just being there - everything's good as long as Don can get it out of his outraged, collapsing system, until he gets to the point of cursing himself.

The process ends. Almost.

Stumbling, he closes the fridge and manages to get back to bed. After lying down, he opens the second drawer of his meaningless nightstand and finds his pills.

He stares at them, just trying to imagine if they'd do any good. He takes one anyway, not even bothering to get some water to make swallowing easy. Then Don turns off the light.

Darkness is what he deserves. Even if it doesn't provide any kind of new, fresh perspective, at least it echoes the internal faults he needs to fix.

The pillow's soft, comforting. Flashes of red and white flooded his senses, overlapping with the shadowed objects in the room. Every corner seems to become another crime's home.

Slowly, the memories of his victim's bleeding head start to fade away.

Karma will come and fix the balance of life.

Quietness arrives, and silence deepens. Don's breathing has calmed down. The pill has obviously done its job. Some things are fading, disappearing from view; others have their shapes distorted by the wishes he can't make come true.

He wonders if anyone would care if he'd scream loud again, right now. Obviously not. He's alone. There's no backup for a mind that's made to make bad decisions and a heart that's used to aching.

But as much as Don wants to let himself speak with more honesty than before, he loses his energy and welcomes the sleep that may temporarily repair the damage he's done.

And then he notices that not everything is quiet.

There are sounds coming from outside his bedroom. He suddenly can't remember who could have the key.

Someone opens the bedroom door. A ray of light comes in and, somehow, a little hope of understanding suits Don's eagerness to clean his soul.

**The End.**

**XxX**


	2. Clean and Unclean

**Title:** Clean and Unclean (sequel to "Clean")  
**Characters:** Don, Crystal Hoyle, Megan Reeves, Buck Winters, Ian  
**Word Count:** 1,410.  
**Rating:** R.  
**Warnings:** Violence.  
**Spoilers:** 3x01 – Spree and 3x02 – Two Daughters.  
**Summary:** Crystal wants revenge. Megan provides some sense. Don must find a way to see the light.  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Numb3rs or anything related to it.  
**Betas:** The fantastic twins_m0m and the great Lily G.

**Clean and Unclean**

His heart is aching. His body is heavy. His eyes are blinded but they're still awake.

The light is there. The open door is the key. The promise of understanding keeps him quiet as the expectation increases.

White brightness starts fading. There's a body – a female figure. Don blinks once, then twice. Slowly, the shape of that woman becomes clear. Crystal Hoyle is entering the room and she doesn't seem to be expecting any welcome greetings.

"You want your soul to be clean," she says.

Astonished but with almost no energy to respond, Don swallows and rests on his elbows. As she walks towards him, he ends up sitting down on the bed. The sheets are burning, or perhaps he is, but that doesn't matter right now.

Crystal is right. He wants the clips of that movie to stop – the ones that display a certain lack of responsibility as he shoots her, as her car explodes. He watches her come closer until she stops right in front of him.

"Yes, you want it. I know you do," she whispers. "But you can't have it."

"Why not?" a second voice comes up.

Looking around the room, Don recognizes it. It's Megan. Where is she? How did she get here? He spots her in a dark corner of the room. Barefoot, she's resting her back on the wardrobe, and when she comes out of the shadows, she adds, "He saved me." Megan stares at Crystal silently as she sits on the floor. She adopts the classic meditation position, closing her eyes and breathing in and out. Yet for some reason, Don knows she won't miss any of the words that are being spoken.

Crystal turns to her; the clock ticks, just like an hour ago, before both women appeared to torment Don. But then the teacher goes back to him and says, "What about Buck?"

The young man's figure fades in behind her, wearing the well-known orange jumpsuit of prisoners. He's laying his back against the wall, looking at the empty space, like in his world no one exists. Don can sense his anger.

"My baby is lost," Crystal mutters. "He's lost without me, in prison, for God knows how many years, because of you." She turns to her lover as his image disappears. "He's seventeen. He had a whole life to live." Looking at Don again, her expression is determined. "You, son of a bitch… You killed me."

There's silence.

"You put bullets into many people's heads," is Megan's comeback from the shadows. Only her lips move. The rest of her body is completely still.

Don barely notices that Crystal is kneeling in front of him. He watches her face closely, catching his breath, wondering which move will she choose next. They lock eyes. He tries to understand the implied message, if any. He pays attention to every detail…

There's a dot on her forehead. A dot that suddenly starts to bleed. Dark, red liquid comes out of the hole he's created and it slides over her nose until it reaches her lips.

In a reflex, Don tries to get up. He doesn't want to see this – not now, not ever. But Crystal grabs his hands and brings them to her face. His palms are stained with her blood as she states, "This is our blood."

With horror, he pushes her away and runs to the bathroom. There, he closes the door. He holds on the sink and then splashes his face on water. He watches himself in the mirror. He's not alone.

The door is now open and Crystal's not dead yet. Just to make sure, Don looks back at her.

"Yes, this is our blood." Those are her words.

The reflection of them doesn't lie. But when Don goes back to the mirror, there's another figure there. Ian is standing right beside him, with his eyes fixed on the floor, ashamed.

Crystal's voice comes up again. "You'd like to be like that bastard. Because you know he's allowed to kill, Eppes. It's what he does, who he is."

Ian silently runs one hand through his hair, like he can't forgive himself for an entire life of killing.

"If he'd done it," she continues, "it wouldn't have meant anything to you. But you pulled the trigger, and you're the one who gets responsibility for it."

As Ian's figure vanishes, Don realizes he can't be that man. He just can't… yet he is.

"And you weren't like him… until I came into your life."

He has to admit that she's right. He is unclean because of her, because of his need to take control and fix things by the wrong means. Making someone disappear doesn't get rid of all the damage that's been done.

"He took me home," Megan says, standing near Crystal, behind her, a few feet away. The other woman doesn't react as she speaks. "He took me back to the ones I love, to my job, to my world."

"Even if that meant murdering me?" Crystal responds.

Megan nods, but the teacher can't see her. "Yes. These are not your teenage years, Crystal. All your killings matter and you know you wouldn't have been able to stop."

Things start to make sense. Don's an assassin… but he's done what was necessary at the time. Megan is safe now. Crystal has taken too many lives, and according to her psychological profile, she wouldn't have been taken back to her senses or into society.

Therefore, there is balance – one that is unfair, but one that's good for some.

"No, there isn't!" Crystal yells, and she reaches for something behind her back. "There is no balance. You have to pay for all the blood you've shed." Slowly, her arm rises, pointing a 0.45 caliber at him.

Don's mouth opens slightly. He walks backwards, as he can't make any defensive moves. Maybe he doesn't want to; maybe he still wants the pain so he can have some kind of redemption. His hip hits the sink. He's all hers.

Her eyes sparkle with rage as she speaks. "You're going to pay for _my_ blood."

Hallucinations are dangerous, most doctors say. He's never really believed it until now. The lights of the bathroom become bright, just like when he saw her for the first time at the door.

And suddenly, he's blind again. He can hear the gun lock go off. He can hear the heavy breathing of someone who wants revenge. On the verge of collapse, Don squeezes his eyes, waiting for the outcome.

There's a shot.

Lights go down. Surroundings are revealed to him again. Crystal's body is falling to the floor as her blood coats her t-shirt.

Don lets himself sit on the floor. With wide eyes and trembling lips, he crawls to the opposite corner to get as far as possible from the body. He fixes his eyes on it and he desperately tries to figure out why this has happened. He needs to know what this violent scene means, why his mind plays these kinds of tricks to him. There has to be some kind of purpose.

"There is," Megan assures her, and when Don's eyes land on her, she's staring at him. She looks calm but worried – the portrait of wisdom.

She lets the Glock 27 she's used slip to the floor and goes to meet him. The image of her bare feet against the white, cold ground gives Don shivers, but he doesn't avoid her. He allows his eyes to rest; she has to provide the answer his brain can't offer by direct means. Her warm body is next to him, sitting on the floor. Her hair brushes his neck when she rests her head on his shoulder.

"There is a purpose," she assures. "There are choices people like us have to make. Sometimes we have to put down one life to save another. And this… this is fine. Just lying here… _surviving_. This is who we are, Don. We are… both clean and unclean. Even if somehow we find out a way to forgive ourselves and wash off the blood."

He brings his legs closer to his body and takes a deep breath. Emptiness fills Don's mind. He opens his eyes and feels his heart getting quiet. The feeling of Megan's warmth beside him and the image of Crystal bleeding on the floor are gone.

Coping time is over. It's time to get up and forget.

**The End.**


End file.
